


All this and more

by cameliae



Series: All this [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: (gone wrong but nothing bad happens!!), (nothing bad happens!!), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Anxious Jaskier | Dandelion, Blow Jobs, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Double Penetration, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Hurt Eskel (The Witcher), I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, No beta sorry, Protective Eskel (The Witcher), Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Lambert (The Witcher), Rimming, Voyeurism, but i failed and this 17k came out, but they really like each other!, i tried to write a pwp, it's not polyamory, mentions of breakdowns, they are all so soft for the bitchy bard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:07:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27746473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cameliae/pseuds/cameliae
Summary: Jaskier freezes just for a second, then he raises his head from Geralt's neck and looks at him with a frown. Then, he smiles, bumping slightly his nose with a fingertip. “Oh, love. They're both very neat, I cannot lie about this. But nothing, no one, will ever take my eyes off you, worry not. And I bet your cock is bigger than theirs, right?” he grins, knowingly, when Geralt raises an eyebrow, “Ohhh, I knew it!”“I'm not worried. I trust them.” Geralt says, and Jaskier widens slightly his eyes, blinking almost incredulously.Oh, so, Jaskier remembers that discussion they had long, so long ago. “What are you implying, Geralt?” he, in fact, asks.Jaskier has desires, and Geralt wants to give him the world. He trusts no one, for the things he asks. But he trusts his brothers with his life, so it wouldn't be a big deal trusting them with his lover, too.
Relationships: Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion & Lambert, Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert, Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Lambert, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: All this [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2136408
Comments: 6
Kudos: 154





	All this and more

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this should have been a pwp with a tiny if no plot at all. And yet, here we are, with a 17k foursome porn and feelings, sorry. Actually, after this, I'm starting to have hearty eyes with Eskel and Geralt together, and it was not my intention _at all_. Just a precisation: Geralt defines Lambert and Eskel as his brothers, but of course nothing of this is incest - it's really not my thing. I know it's a known thing in the fandom, that the Witchers aren't really _brothers_ , but I just wanted this to be clear.  
> Sorry for any mistake you could find! It's not betaed, and I'm not an english speaker.

Eskel gets hurt during their contract. Nowadays, Geralt doesn't take part in hunts anymore, having retired quite long ago and enjoying his relatively new life as he works in his winery in Toussaint, strolling in the woods around while taking Roach for a ride, and fucks Jaskier when he wants, as he wants, without a care in the world.

But now, fretting at Eskel's wound on his sternum while Lambert tries to stop the pouring blood flooding out of it, he can't find himself to regret joining them when they asked for his help – the place of their contract is so close to Corvo Bianco, after all, and what if one of the creatures lurking in the shadows gets too close to his propriety, and consequently to Jaskier? He _had_ to go with them, even if it's been _years_ since he last saw his brothers. As he helps Eskel drink Swallow, he is so glad he's here with them. He doesn't even want to think of what might have happened to Lambert, especially to _Eskel_ , alone and surrounded by danger.

“He won't die.” Geralt says, as he watches Eskel slowly losing consciousness. Lambert is snarling at the bandages, tightening them against Eskel's wound. They both hope that this and the potion would be enough to stop the blood loss, because they really have no time to patch him up. “But we can't stay here any longer.”

“Can't we? And here I wanted to take the fucking tent out and roasting some pheasant for old time's sake.” Lambert snorts, passing his hand on his head, not caring to leave bloody fingerprints on his forehead. “Yeah, good, let's take him the fuck out of here.” he then says, raising Eskel up his shoulder. Their brother shallowly exhales, but he doesn't wake up at the rough movement. “Lead the way.”

Corvo Bianco is closer, obviously, than the town they reunited before going on with the hunt – and just for Eskel's sake, Geralt knows that the best thing for him is to bring him home. That's why he takes a different road, but the stench of blood and death is lingering so much in Lambert's mind, probably, that he doesn't acknowledge that immediately. He does, though, when he starts to see a more lively town down the Path, and he makes sure Geralt knows that _he_ knows by kicking his shin while they run. “Wrong way, idiot!”

“I'm not bringing him into a shitty inn where they wouldn't even give us hot water to clean his wounds. I'm bringing him home.” Geralt explains, taking a turn so they won't go across the little village with a half–dead bloody body with them. He follows the road in the forest nearby, that leads towards the back garden where Jaskier loves sunbathing naked during the hot summers – as no one even pass from there, because that is just theirs, their little piece of heaven.

“Home? You mean, the tiny hole you disappeared into years ago without caring to give us a notice? Eskel should feel honored. _Hey_ , Eskel, feel honored, Geralt is bringing us into his hiding because you almost died.” snorts Lambert, nudging at the sleeping body on his shoulder, and Geralt doesn't miss the tiny hint of bitterness in his tight voice.

Guiltily, Geralt just grunts, “Fuck off, Lambert.”

“And, really Geralt? Toussaint, of all places? I thought you to be more of a _crawling–into–a–swamp_ type, surely not a–” he shuts up for a second, after crossing the back corridor until Geralt stops in front of his house's door. “–an actual house, with walls and all.”

“Lambert, _please_.” Geralt begs, opening the door and showing his brother the way inside. He faintly hears a quiet heartbeat upstairs – Jaskier is probably sleeping in their bedroom, fallen asleep maybe waiting for his return, even if the moon isn't even up in the sky yet. “Later. Now, let's think about Eskel. He's bleeding out on your shoulder.”

“Yes, and it's fucking disgusting. He's better going to buy me another armor after this.”

Geralt points Lambert to drop – “carefully, Lambert, _please._ ” _–_ Eskel on the couch. Immediately Geralt unties Eskel's broken armor, wincing when it hits the ground with a loud _clank_ , hoping that it hasn't woken Jaskier up. He searches in his satchel and grabs threads and a needle, and he almost orders Lambert to go and fetch hot water to clean Eskel's wound, when he is interrupted by a loud gasp.

He turns his head towards the stairs, and Lambert unsheathes his sword and points it at _Jaskier_. He almost snarls and punches Lambert in the guts just for _daring_ even doing that to Jaskier, but the boy points his feet on the ground and puts his hands on his hips, “Lower immediately your weapon, gentle sir, as you have no rights to threatening me in _my_ house! Geralt, please, _explain_.” he adds, when he catches Geralt kneeling on the ground next to the couch. Then, he widens his eyes when he spots Eskel, and pales, “Sweet Melitele, what the fuck has happened?!”

“Jaskier, can you go fetch water and as many cloths as you can find?” he asks, softly, trying to tell him to stay calm, that it's everything under control, that he's fine and everyone is fine. Jaskier's always been so good at reading his expression and his silences, and now it's not different.

Jaskier blinks, and fidget with a hem of his shirt – _Geralt's_ shirt, he's wearing just _that –_ as he nods and mutters, “Yeah, yeah. Sure, I go immediately.” then, he disappears towards the kitchen.

Geralt sighs, and turns his attention to Eskel again, ignoring as much as he can Lambert's heavy stare. “So. You live with him?” Lambert asks, joining him on the floor and tearing off Eskel's undershirt, seeing the gravity of the wound as it seems to be way wider than they thought. They didn't even bandaged the entire wound, Geralt muses as he grimaces. Lambert, with a shrug, tears off the bandages too.

“Yes.” Geralt answers, “He's my...”

“Housekeeper? It's strange that he wears your clothes though.”

Geralt growls, “ _Lover_.”

Lambert raises both his eyebrows, and whistles. “Never expected that.” then hums, amused, “Makes sense, kinda. I mean, for him to be wearing your clothes, not for much else. You really surprised me here, pretty boy.”

Jaskier arrives in that moment, wobbly a bit bringing a large bowl with both hands and with some pieces of cloth hanging from his shoulder. Silently, he lays the bowl and a cloth on the ground beside Geralt, fidgeting with the other, than stands up and, biting his lower lips, looms behind his back, frowning at the sight of the blood still poring off Eskel. “Is he... fine?” he asks.

“He is going to be.” Geralt reassures him, “Why don't you go back upstairs? You will avoid the gruesomest part.”

“Uh, you don't...” Jaskier frowns more, eyeing Lambert, “Need anything? More cloths, more water? Any help?”

“We don't need vomit all over the wound, so no, boy, you can go.” tells him Lambert, waving an hand towards Jaskier in a clear gesture of dismiss.

Jaskier gasps, “He's even more _rude_ than you've ever been, Geralt! How's that even possible!” he whines, outraged. He seems that he wants to add something else, by the way he puffs his chest, but then he deflates and touches lightly his shoulder, “You're sure you don't need anything?”

“He's a Witcher, Jask. Don't worry, he'll survive. He had worse, now he just needs to rest.”

Jaskier winced, unconvinced. But then he nods, and Geralt is pretty sure that he's trying not to stare at Eskel's scarred face. “Alright. Call me if you need anything?”

“Please, tell us again if we need something, maybe the thirteenth time is the right one.”

Jaskier just throws the remaining cloth in his hands to Lambert's face, then he touches again Geralt's shoulder one last time and, under Lambert's spluttering, he turns back towards the stairs. Geralt looks at his back until he disappears into the dark, while Lambert, complaining about his _lover_ being a pain in the ass, cleans Eskel's wound.

Then, Geralt closes the wide gash – that, thankfully, it's already starting to close itself where the muscle isn't cut too deep; Eskel's is lucky that no organs tried to crawl out of his belly while he was on Lambert's shoulder. Then he sighs, tiredness finally taking a toll on him: he's not used to this anymore, fucking hell. “He'll need to rest for a couple of days, at least. Or the wound will reopen.”

Lambert snorts, “Oh, you know. He's the responsible one, he won't try to go fucking a succubus in this condition.”

“And yet, he's the only one who has ever done that.”

Lambert playfully – and lightly – shoves Eskel's shoulder. “He did, this bastard!” he grins. Eskel, in response, just snores. When the moment passes, Lambert frowns and scratches the back of his head, “We will go away the second he's fine, don't worry. We'll leave you to enjoy your honeymoon or whatever you are doing here.”

Geralt winces imperceptibly, and bites the inside of his cheek – an habit he gained from Jaskier, one of the many signs he has to show his nervousness, “You can stay as long as you want, Lambert. You know that.”

Lambert snorts, “Do I?”

They don't say anything anymore, after that.

Geralt jolts awake the moment he feels something soft covering his shoulders, and immediately Jaskier hushes him with a soft murmur, “Shh, love, it's me. You both fell asleep on the floor, so I brought you covers. You must be freezing.”

The only possibility they're going to freeze is just if they fall into a frozen lake, or something colder than that, but Geralt doesn't reprimand and thanks him nonetheless. Looking around, he sees Lambert sprawled on the floor, snoring loudly; Eskel, still on the couch, has already some furs atop of him. Another blanket is on Jaskier's arms, probably meant for Lambert, but before he gets up to go closer to his brother, Geralt grabs his arm and nuzzles against his neck, inhaling his flowery scent there where it's most fragrant.

“You've done well, darling. He seems to be so much better already.” Jaskier whispers, cradling his head in his palms. “Bringing him here was the right thing to do.”

And Gods, that is exactly what Geralt needed to hear. He kisses the soft spot under his ear, where the blood flows faster and stronger, so much that he almost feel it running under his lips. “I'm just sorry that you had to see it.” he says against his skin, and Jaskier chuckles breathlessly – probably because Geralt's beard made him ticklish. Inhaling again, Geralt smells something else beside his usual scent, “Hm, chamomile.” murmurs.

“Yes, I drank a bit of it. I needed to calm down.” Jaskier explains, sheepishly.

Geralt rises from the crook of his neck and looks out the window. A timid light comes in, but not much to lighten all the room. “Couldn't sleep?” he asks him then. It's rare that Jaskier wakes up before the sun is shining up in the sky, for he loves to linger all morning under the soft furs, but it's not a thing that never happened before. Before, though, Geralt was with him helping him get through his anxiety – this time, he woke up alone.

“It's fine. The chamomile helped. Do you want some? It's early, after all, it might help you sleep more. I'm sorry for waking you up, love, it wasn't my intention. Gods, you must be tired.” Jaskier says, frowning as he touches, lightly, the black under his eyes.

“Fucking tits _and_ cocks, can you two just shut the fuck up?” Lambert suddenly shouts, growling at them as he turns to the side, covering his ears. “I feel so nauseous being waken up with this disgusting demonstrations of affection from _Geralt_ of all people, _ugh_.”

Jaskier adorably flushes red at Lambert's words, and Geralt laughs under his breath, caressing his flaming cheeks. “I don't mind some.” he says at last, getting up and bringing Jaskier with him. Jaskier, still red but with also an adorable glare on, throws almost grudgingly the furs on Lambert.

Reaching the kitchen, Jaskier grabs a mug and pours the chamomile in it from a teapot. “It's gone cold,” he says, handling him the mug. He smiles, showing him his teeth, “but I guess you can warm it up on your own, am I right?”

Geralt raises his eyes to the sky, and with a weak _igni_ , it makes the chamomile hot again. Jaskier's scent of arousal hits him almost immediately, as it always does whenever Geralt uses his signs. He takes another mug from the cupboard, fill it quickly, and nudges him to warm up that too.

Of course, Geralt indulges him.

They sit at the table, sipping the chamomile in silence. It's Jaskier, as he always does, that breaks it, “Uh... Geralt, who are they? It doesn't seem so important yesterday, but now I can't help but wonder. All I know is that they are Witchers, but why were you with them?”

“They're my brothers, from the Wolf School.”

“Oh,” Jaskier frowns, looking into his chamomile. “I didn't know you had brothers.”

“We're not... related, if that's what you mean. We are more brothers in arms than anything. We grew up together,” says Geralt, omitting the suffering and the Trials and the Path that ties them together. He doesn't need to know that, even if he probably imagines something, considering that some of the stories he told him during these years together he may have mentioned a thing or two. “Actually, Lambert is younger.”

Jaskier chuckles, “Yeah, he has the attitude of a younger brother. Not that I know this personally, I've never had siblings – thank the Gods for that, or it would have been worse running away from Lettenhove.” he clinks his tongue against his teeth, shaking his head. His fingers, though, tighten where they are pressed against his steaming mug, a nervous gesture that Geralt has seen him doing almost every time he mentions his family. “Anyway, I'm happy to know that you have a family, somewhere. That you aren't alone, in this world.” he says then, more cheerfully.

“I am not alone, Jaskier. I have you.”

Jaskier's cheeks colour of a cute pink again, illuminated by the soft light of the newborn sun from the window, “Yeah, I... yeah.” he sniffs, “I'm just happy that you have someone else beside me.” the words _unlike me_ rest unsaid, but Geralt hears them the same.

Geralt takes his hand into his, and raises it in front of his face. He kisses his knuckles, one by one, looking at his face, at his blush and at his big, shiny eyes, happy as he always is every time Geralt shows him with this kind, small gestures how much he loves him. Jaskier should know that, without having any doubt, but sometimes he understands him perfectly, when he feels so in peace with himself as Jaskier murmurs words of love into his ears.

“Ugh. How can I _unsee_ this?”

Jaskier jolts, and Geralt smiles against the skin of his hand, “You can't, Lambert.”

Lambert grimaces, disgusted. Geralt knows him, though, and he can see under the rudeness that Lambert is actually happy for him, he just has a shitty way to show it. All the three of them – and Vesemir, for that matter, and Lambert himself knows that perfectly – are aware that Lambert is the one that feels the most. Mostly anger, but he never tries to hide his discomfort, nor his displeasure. Vesemir is the usual target of his complaining, and Geralt has been on the cutting side of his weapons more times than he can actually remember, but it's Lambert's coping mechanism to what they all went through, and they still go through every single day on the Path.

Lambert is actually the most sane of them all. Well, _was_. He is not anymore, now that Geralt has found his peace, that is.

His brother falls on the chair in front of him, and frowns at his and Jaskier's entwined hands. He has the fur Jaskier brought him on his shoulder, put there as a shawl – he took off his armor, Geralt can clearly see the black of his undershirt under the fur. That means that Lambert feels _safe_. “I will have to wash my eyeballs, now. Thank you, bastards.”

Jaskier shrugs, “You're welcome!”

“I guess introductions are in need.” Lambert passes the palm of his hand on his head, rubbing the short–cropped hair. Even if the night before they washed the blood off their hands, dry stains persisted. “But you know what? Let's do that when Eskel wakes up. He's the nice one, with him it won't go all shit.”

“I sure hope that _at least_ one of you Witchers is nice from the start.” Jaskier rolls his eyes, then he gently lets go of his hand as he stands up. “Hey, Lambert, do you want something to eat?”

“Meat is perfect. And I want ale.”

“It's, uh.” Jaskier blinks, and looks outside the window, “It's barely _dawn_.”

Lambert stares at him, cocking his head to the side.

Jaskier rolls his eyes again, and heads to the door. When he closes it behind his back, as Geralt hears his soft steps getting farther from them, Lambert grunts something and a foot kicks his shin under the table. “Fucking hell, who would have thought you'd be this _saccharine_.”

“Gods, Lambert.” Geralt hisses, without any bite in his voice though. “I missed you.”

Lambert's mouth twists, “Hard to believe. Look at you, living in _Toussaint_ , in a nice house, with a man that loves you despite your flaws, with probably a stupid, not dangerous at all job just to do something. Why would you miss _me_? Oh, please, pretty boy. Spare me shitty excuses, your disappearance said enough.”

Geralt lowers his eyes, guilt flooding into his stomach. He wasn't about to tell excuses, because there aren't: they never had a relationship _too_ close, after all, if not during the cold winters passed in Kaer Morhen, getting drunk with the White Gull Lambert distilled, playing Gwent as they tell stories of their travels. With Eskel, is a bit different – but the times they were trying to find warmth into each others are long gone. They stayed years without seeing each other at all, but somehow they always, always tried to tell the others that they are fine, and alive.

Geralt, this time, didn't. For five, long years, they probably thought him dead, until they finally reached him for the hunt of the night before. He would have been bitter too, if he was in their place, if he has to be honest.

So no, he won't find any excuses. He will just tell them – Lambert more than Eskel, because probably Eskel already understood the real reason the second he rested his eyes upon him the night before, with his now cured beard and hair, and clearly unused armor – the _truth_. “I have. All you said, I have it. That's why I–” he swallows, guilt and shame crawling up his back. “I was afraid to lose it all. Reaching out to you, it would have meant to leave Jaskier behind and force myself to return to the Path.” _as I did yesterday_ , he almost says, but he doesn't.

Lambert stares at him for interminable minutes, until Jaskier comes back with dry fruits in his arms. He drops them on the table and points a finger at Lambert, glaring, “This is what you'll get, Witcher. And,” he turns, grabs a mug and fills it with the chamomile, “this is what you'll drink.”

Lambert takes the mug and sniffs its content, “What is this, tea? I'm not in my fucking deathbed!”

“My house, my rules.” Jaskier says, not impressed at all by Lambert's shouting. He crosses his arms against his chest, “And one rule is, _no_ ale before midday!”

Lambert looks incredulously at Geralt, “This boy is a _pest_!”

Jaskier gasps, “ _Excuse me_?”

As Lambert grabs some fruits and stuffs his mouth with them, Jaskier sits graciously on his chair, winking at Geralt as he passes him a piece of dry apple. While they eat, Lambert mumbles something not quite comprehensible with his mouth full. And Jaskier doesn't understand what he said, by the look he's giving him – but Geralt does, almost perfectly.

“You won't be forced, pretty boy.”

Eskel keeps sleeping throughout the day, just as he has to. Jaskier damps a wet cloth on his lips, and Geralt is pretty sure that Eskel doesn't need that to survive, as he is a Witcher that surely has gone dehydrated more times than not, but it's clearly helping him feel better. Geralt looks at the care Jaskier has for a Witcher – for his _brother –_ and he feels like the luckiest bastard on earth.

As the day goes on, he and Lambert decide that the supplies he has in the house aren't enough to feed three Witchers and a healthy human, so Geralt gives a kiss on Jaskier's eyebrow and tells him that they'll come back before the sun will set, with whatever they catch in the forest nearby.

Gaining Lambert's forgiveness is never easy, but Geralt thinks that considering he is hunting there with him without making too much of a fuss, he is probably already half forgiven. Also, passing some time together and letting Lambert steam off the anger from the night before might be good, for the both of them.

When they come back with a deer on Lambert's shoulder – funnily, they both commented that the carcass is in the same position as was Eskel hours ago – Geralt finds Jaskier where he left him, next to Eskel: now, though, Eskel is awake, and he is telling him something that Jaskier is hearing with exciting and curious eyes. When they spot him, Jaskier gets up to greet them and says, “Lambert, you were right. He's nice!”

“Glad you found your favourite.” Lambert says, not surprised at all.

“Silly Witcher, Geralt is obviously my favourite. But you, Eskel, are right behind him!”

Lambert scoffs, and lets the carcass fall into the floor at Jaskier's feet, who squeaks disgusted, “But what the fuck is wrong with you?!” he cries, moving away from the dead deer almost tripping with his feet.

“I'm your least favourite, I don't have to be nice. Take this and go cooking this shit, my stomach is growling.”

Jaskier opens his mouth in an outraged expression, “Excuse me, are you perhaps giving me orders? No can do, sir. Pick this poor animal immediately from _my_ house's floor and bring it into the kitchen. Now!” he stomps out the couch room, “Come. _On_!” he adds, when he sees Lambert not following him.

With an amused grunt, Lambert does as said and they both disappear towards the kitchen, leaving Geralt and Eskel alone. The latter breathes out a laughter, still placidly laying on the couch, naked chest covered by the furs. “They seem to get along well.”

“Lambert likes him because, uh, because Jaskier likes Witchers, I think.”

“I don't think that's the only reason.” Eskel is smiling knowingly, looking straight at him. He has always been the most understanding of them all, Eskel – when they were barely teenagers, he had been the one Geralt has gone to anytime he needed comfort, a gentle touch, a gentle word. Eskel has always been there for him, even when Geralt hasn't done the same for him. “Jaskier said he's your lover. Were you with him all this time? Does he makes you happy, wolf?”

“Yes.” Geralt answers, without waiting not even a beat.

This is not what he wanted, but now that he has it, he can't live without. Eskel probably reads that in his face, because he just shakes his head and shrugs, “Then it's all okay, Geralt. Take that martyr expression off your face, now, there's no need.”

Geralt's shoulders drop, as if a weight has been lift from them. He doesn't even acknowledge that he was waiting for some harsh words, for disdain or, worse, disappointment that he has left the Path – _them_ – behind – even if he should have known that it's never like that with Eskel, after all. He sits on the couch next to him and pats lightly on the bandages at his belly. Eskel, for that matter, doesn't even flinch at the contact: the wound must be already almost healed. “Good.” he says, with a hum.

Eskel hums too, in response. “I'm glad you're fine.”

Somehow, Geralt knows that his brother isn't referring to whatever attacked them the night before. Especially since he's been the only one wounded, that is. “Hm. How're you feeling?”

“Well rested. You have a comfortable couch, wolf.”

Geralt grins, ignoring for now the shouts he hears from the kitchen. “Jaskier is an expert in luxury. The bed is even better. You and Lambert can stay in the spare room for... as long as you want.” he then indicates at his bandages, “And need.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it. It is pretty...” something glassy breaks in the kitchen, and loud gasps follow the noise, “ _Quiet_ here.”

“It's just a winery. Nothing special happens here.” at this point, the smell of burnt meat reaches their nose.

“Seems your thing. You've always liked the quiet.”

Jaskier screams something at Lambert, and Geralt sighs fondly, “Silence is a curse, now that I have the loudest man that has ever walked on this earth next to me. Sure, it's not like a succubus,” he wiggles his eyebrows and shoves lightly at Eskel, who cracks a laughter. “but he's quite close.”

“Lucky you, then.” Eskel's eyes are soft.

“Hm.” the burnt smell becomes more pronounced, “Should I go see if none of them died?”

“I can clearly hear both their shouts, they are having fun. Let them be, they're fine. Oh, wait, here they come.”

Like this, Jaskier appears at the door, blood splattered on his face and fire in his eyes. Geralt remembers the same, combative eyes when they still were walking together on the Path, and he was smashing one of his beloved lutes on a bandit that wanted to steal from them, or when he was threatening to punch the faces of a tavern's customers just because he said some bad things about Geralt. Feral, and strong. It's been a while since Geralt saw that eyes. “Geralt, _your brother_ has skinned the deer on the table _where we eat_ and set it on fire! He set it on _fire_ , Geralt!”

“This is how _I_ cook, alright?” says Lambert, appearing behind him with bloody arms crossed against his chest. “Cut off the bed parts, then roast the meat on fire.”

“That's not at all how it works! Geralt didn't cook like that when he traveled! I mean, he actually skinned the meat with his bare hands too, but he never put that on fire! Now it's _burnt._ It's completely inedible!”

“Well, burnt means that it will have a flavour. Better than nothing!”

Jaskier blinks, “Do you know that we actually have _seasoning_ here, right?”

Eskel bursts out laughing, and Geralt follows him not much later. He wants to get up and take Jaskier in his arms and wipe away the blood on his face, but he really likes his cheeks flushed red in anger – and excitement, as he can smell in his scent, he really is having fun.

There's also a spicy hint in his scent that Geralt knows very, very well.

Hm.

Jaskier, that night, when they go into bed after a meal with burnt meat and smashed potatoes and a couple of hours where Jaskier sang songs about Witchers, is very eager to fuck. It's nothing rare, really: Jaskier would fuck every time he takes a breath, if possible. He loves it, and Geralt is an incredible liar if he says that he doesn't love it the same. Or better, he loves sex with _Jaskier_ : before, it's only been a necessity, a need of his body, an itch that whores helped him scratch. Now, he can't have enough of Jaskier's taste on his tongue, of his moans, of his gaping hole, of his flushed prick.

Jaskier rides him for hours, hands slitting sweaty on his chest, trying to find a steadiness he loses every time he impales himself on Geralt's cock. He's muffling his usual noisy huffs, probably a bit conscious of the two Witchers sleeping in the spare room downstairs – he knows, after all, that Witchers have enhanced senses.

“Let them hear.” Geralt murmurs in his ears, and Jaskier whimpers, trembling. He feels his hole clenching around his cock, as he comes with a loud moan. He falls on his chest, and Geralt's arms immediately go around him, and starts to pound once, twice, three more times, hard and fast, before coming inside his pliant body. Jaskier loves the thought of being heard, so it seems.

In their afterglow, before they get up to clean themselves, they just stay there, like this. Jaskier buries his face in the crook of his neck, eyes closed, emitting soft and content noises. Geralt is going soft inside him, but he still doesn't pull out his cock from him, for as he knows that Jaskier loves the sensation of being filled until he's too sensible to keep going.

Geralt probably will take him totally off–guard, as Jaskier seems to be completely unaware of what's going on in his mind, too occupied in enjoying the remains of his orgasm. Even so, Geralt says, “You like them.”

“ _Mhh_? Lambert and Eskel, you mean? Of course, who else.” Jaskier chuckles, words coming off his mouth a bit mumbled, “Of course I like them, they're your family.”

“Hm,” Geralt hums, turning his head so his lips go in contact with his sweaty hair. They stay there, stroking his glistening forehead, and do not much else. “I mean, you _like_ them. I can _smell_ how much you do.” he doesn't breathe in, now, it wouldn't make sense, because now his scent is just so full of Geralt that it doesn't have more space for anything else.

Jaskier freezes just for a second, then he raises his head from Geralt's neck and looks at him with a frown. Then, he smiles, bumping slightly his nose with a fingertip. “Oh, love. They're both very neat, I cannot lie about this. But nothing, no one, will ever take my eyes off you, worry not. And I bet your cock is bigger than theirs, right?” he grins, knowingly, when Geralt raises an eyebrow, “ _Ohhh_ , I knew it!”

“I'm not worried. I _trust_ them.” Geralt says, and Jaskier widens slightly his eyes, blinking almost incredulously.

Oh, so, Jaskier remembers that discussion they had long, so long ago. “What are you implying, Geralt?” he, in fact, asks.

He probably already understands what he is implying, but, as usually, Jaskier wants Geralt to use his voice, and words. So there won't be any place for miscommunications and such. Geralt doesn't even know how to put into actual words what has gnawed in his mind all evening, as he looks at the excitement in Jaskier's face as he strums his lute and dances around his brothers, his spicy scent hitting his nose not only when Jaskier's eyes fell on him but also on them. The thing is, Geralt hasn't minded that at all, not as much as he had when Jaskier flirted while they were still travelled together – not as much as when Jaskier proposed to have sex with a third person, because Jaskier _loves_ to be at the center of attention, and loves to be pampered in bed, and loves to have all his holes filled.

That's why Geralt says, “I don't trust anyone, you know that. But I trust Eskel and Lambert with _my life_ , and I think I can trust you too to them.”

Jaskier mouth is open, as Geralt speaks, and his hole clenches weakly around his soft cock. “Darling, you aren't... _proposing_ what I think you are proposing just to make _me_ happy, right?”

“Yes, I want you happy. Wasn't what you desired?”

“I mean,” Jaskier laughs, and Geralt frowns at the hint of nervousness he can feel in his flowery scent, “I know you want to grant my every whim, I never doubted that! But, really, Geralt, love of my life, no fulfilled desire is worth compromising our relationship. Especially if this will make you unhappy, or uncomfortable, or... well, I want to be in this together, so you don't have to do that _only_ for _me_. You understand, love?”

Geralt takes within his fingers a damp strand of hair stuck on his forehead, and puts it behind his ear. “Hm, I don't think it will make me uncomfortable. Lambert, Eskel and I already shared whores before, the rare times we met in our Paths.”

“ _Ohhh_ , really?” Jaskier bites his lips, interested in the story. Gods, this man.

“But I guess with you is different.”

“I'm better than a whore.”

“No doubts.” Geralt chuckles, “But that's not why it's different, Jask. Hm, so, maybe we can do something more... bland, to make a start.”

“Oh?” Jaskier blinks, licking his lips and cradling his face in his palms, elbows on Geralt's chest. “An example, please?”

“We can start to make them _watch_.”

Jaskier's hole clenches again, pulsing around his cock that starts to get hard under his movements. “I'd _love_ that.” Jaskier murmurs, then slowly, shallowly, impales himself on his cock again, pushing out his body Geralt's come from his last orgasm. The squelching noise is overwhelming, and Jaskier huffs in pleasure, with his mouth barely an inch separated from Geralt's.

Geralt knows that Jaskier loves being heard and watched as he fucks. They passed long nights where Geralt just stayed on a chair, Jaskier on the bed as he touched himself for _hours_ , and Jaskier kept coming in long spurts just with Geralt's eyes roaming over his naked, sprawled body.

And looking up at him, as he jumps on his lap, sweat getting stuck in his chest hair, pink cock bobbing up and down as he moves, Geralt bets that both his brothers will also love the sight.

The morning comes with someone – Eskel, by the voice – training under the window of his room. Geralt gets up from the bed and Jaskier doesn't even flinch, continuing to snore lightly under a couple of furs, on his stomach. Leaning on the windowsill, Geralt indeed sees Eskel, without his armor on, practicing with one of his swords, with fast movements, not much of a wince comes from him when the wound on his belly pulls.

Geralt puts his clothes on, and goes downstairs trying not to make too much noise, for not causing Jaskier to wake up before his usual time. Reaching his brothers, he leans on the door frame and watches as Eskel regains control of his body, ensuring that the healed wound didn't bring any farther damage. When Eskel seems to be enough satisfied, he stretches and, finally, acknowledges Geralt's presence. “Morning, wolf.” he says, as he walks towards him.

“I see you're completely healed, by now. Lambert's still sleeping?”

Eskel grins, “Someone kept him awake almost all night long.”

“You've heard?” asks Geralt, even if that is an absurd question: of course they heard. Jaskier is particularly vocal, no matter how much he tried to muffle his moans. He also stopped to hold back once they had the discussion about his brothers to _hear_ and _watch_ , so.

“We've heard. _Everything_ , Geralt.” Eskel says, “Don't tell him this, but Lambert almost touched himself. Just the thought that he actually will _see_ with his own eyes made him think not worth the trouble to do that yet.”

Geralt hums, “So that's okay for you?”

“Sure, if it's okay for you, it's okay for us. Jaskier is _your_ lover, after all, not ours.” Eskel pats him on the shoulder, a soft smile tugging at his lips. Where the scar cut the side of his mouth, his teeth are showed, rendering is expression ominous, but that Geralt doesn't think ominous at all. “You've always been quite possessive of your things. But you've also never had a problem sharing them with _us_ , after all.”

“Jaskier's not a thing, though.”

“No.” Eskel nods, almost solemnly. “He isn't.”

They enter back inside and find Lambert in the kitchen, eating the leftovers of yesterday's dinner and drinking the rest of the wine Geralt brought from the cellar. When he spots them, Lambert grins with his mouth greasy and full, before falling on a chair by the table. “Glad that all your shit is settled.” he says, clearly he has heard everything they talked about, “When do we start?”

“Without Jaskier is difficult, Lambert.” Eskel sighs, taking his seat next to him, “I didn't know you were so eager to see Geralt's cock.”

Lambert pulls a face, “As if. I just want to _fucking_...” he trails off, making some gestures of something that explodes.

Jaskier comes down three hours later as they are discussing of their hunt gone wrong, dressed with one of Geralt's shirt – he always sleeps with one of his black shirts, he says that they are more confortable than whatever clothes he possesses – and a pair of underpants. He yawns and, when Geralt opens his arms, he falls seated on his lap, with his eyes still half closed. “You're awake earlier.” Geralt says, kissing his neck. From above his shoulder, he already sees Lambert and Eskel glancing at each other.

“ _Mhh_ , yeah.” mumbles Jaskier, yawning again. Geralt touches his thigh, sliding it up until there is just an inch that separates it from his crotch. He sees Jaskier blink the sleep away, and turn his head towards his face. His cheeks are starting to get of a healthy red, “Geralt?” he eyes at his brothers, biting his lips. “Already?”

He buries his nose in his mop of hair, breathing in his flowery scent, “Is it fine?”

“Oh? Fine?” Jaskier smiles, turns almost completely with his torso so he can kiss him, open mouthed and filthy. He's being watched, two pair of famished eyes, and he's loving it so much, as he already trembles in expectation. He kisses him more, biting and licking, “More than fine.”

Geralt says, “Good. Bend over.”

Jaskier hiccups, and scrambles off his lap to do as ordered. He bends, chest flat on the table, arse up in the air. Geralt, totally ignoring the stares that are following every single of their moves, draws his chair close to him, slides off his pants, and buries his face in his crack. Jaskier's hips jolts, and he emits a loud moan that he doesn't even try to muffle, hands gripping the sides of the table. Geralt feels his hole still lose from the sex of the night before, so it opens so lovingly under the pushes of his tongue, his musky scent inebriating his senses even under the perfumes of the soaps he uses to clean himself.

“Fucking hell,” Geralt hears Lambert swear and a rustle of clothes.

“Wanna bet?” Eskel asks, with a calm that Geralt envies. “Fifty coins to the last that touches himself.”

The rustle stops, “Eskel, you are a fucking piece of shit.”

Jaskier breathes a laughter. Geralt takes his mouth off that perfect arsehole just to say, “My money's on Eskel.” before falling back in, kissing the wrinkled, soft skin. He doesn't hear whatever Lambert may have responded to that, but he feels Jaskier's breathing become more shallowly, half a laughter, half a moan – and that's no good, isn't that? If Jaskier has enough control over himself to laugh at the stupidity of his brothers, Geralt is probably not doing his job as he should.

That's why he takes off a hand from Jaskier's thighs and, with his thumb, carefully, pushes against the wet spot between his arsehole and balls, stroking not too strongly as not to hurt him in accident, while his tongue keeps burrowing itself into him. “Fuck, _Geralt_!” Jaskier cries, and Geralt can hear his nails scratching against the wooden table.

Giving one last kiss on his arsecheek, Geralt prompts up in a swift move. As he does that, he points at the oil right behind Eskel's head, on a shelf, and his brother immediately understands. As he hands Geralt the oil, their fingers touch slightly, and Eskel's fingertips are cold – no wonder where all his blood is confined, right now.

Meanwhile, Jaskier, still bent, has skillfully already unbuttoned Geralt's trousers, freeing his aching cock. “I want to suck you, Geralt.” he breathes, as his fingers stroke his length.

Geralt says, “Not yet.” as he pours the oil on Jaskier's fingers, so he can continue with his caresses more easily. But Jaskier just slicks him, tip to bottom, and settles his cock against his gaping hole. Geralt grinds against him once, and starts to kiss all the skin of his back that he can reach while he feels the immediate warmth of Jaskier's insides.

Jaskier has his face flushed against the table, half–lidded blue eyes dazed but pointed towards the two Witchers, looking at their tensed arms, at their pulled faces. He has a couple of fingers inside his mouth, and he's muttering nonsense between the whimpers. Feeling how strong he's clenching his hole around him, at how his hips are following eagerly every thrust, being watched as Geralt fucks him is making him losing his mind in pleasure. And Geralt... Geralt feels those pair of eyes on him too, and he _likes_ it. Let them see, how lucky he is – why he did and will choose Jaskier over everything.

Suddenly, Lambert shouts, “Fuck off!”

Geralt doesn't raise his eyes from Jaskier's blushed red neck, but he hears quite clearly as Lambert take off his cock from his trousers and starts to touch himself, grunting at every pump of his hand. Jaskier flutters his eyes open, and laughs breathlessly, “You lost, Lambert.” then, his eyes rolls in the back of his head, “Gods, love, I'm coming, keep going, _more_.”

Jaskier isn't touching his neglected cock, and Geralt's hands are too occupied in tightening around his hips, but Jaskier loves to come untouched, especially if they're doing things particularly exciting – he wants to come when he reaches the peak of pleasure. This time, though, Jaskier is stroking himself against the table, so that's a bit like cheating.

Geralt grins, lips on his neck, as he thrusts into him more and more, until Jaskier flails and comes. “Don't,” Jaskier hiccups, when the last wave of his orgasm ends, “Don't come yet, do it in my mouth.”

It's Eskel that grunts, this time. For all he knows, and cares, Lambert has already spewed in his hand, and it's Eskel, now, that it's jerking off. It seems that the thought of Geralt pumping his cock to come on Jaskier's mouth and face makes Eskel all fired up.

After Jaskier regains enough control of his wobbly limbs, he falls on his knees in front of Geralt's crotch, and opens shamelessly his mouth, showing his pink tongue out. Geralt can easily come just for the hungry way Jaskier is looking at him through thick, black lashes, for the way the tip of his tongue tortures the slit on his cock, for the way he's cooing, waiting, _craving_ his spurt.

When he does, Jaskier drinks it all, with fingers that catch the drops seeping down his chin.

Eskel comes mere seconds later.

“Well, fuck you all.” says Lambert, with a rough voice. Eskel grabs towels from the shelf behind him and hands one at Lambert and one at Geralt, that immediately uses to clean Jaskier, letting him sit on his lap as he passes the towel on his stomach and soft prick.

Eskel relaxes on the chair, and winks at Jaskier, “Pay up, Lambert, you lost.”

“I hate you all. Especially you, little pest, you're a fucking _siren_.” Lambert whines, as he gets up and walks out the kitchen, probably to go grabbing the money.

“Fine?” whispers Jaskier, searching in his face for any sign of discomfort.

“Fine.” confirms Geralt, and Jaskier sighs, as if a nervousness that Geralt didn't acknowledge before disappeared in knowing that after all of that, nothing changed between them.

“Here.” Lambert throws a tiny bag when he comes back, coins clinging inside as it hits the table. Then he seems to be considering something, “Fuck you.” he settles on that, in the end.

Jaskier laughs and grabs the bag before Eskel even starts to raise from the chair. “These are mine,” he huffs, “You all were probably too worked up to notice, but I not _once_ touched myself. And Eskel never said that the bet was just between the two of you. Hence, _I_ won.”

“Little devil!” Lambert punches the table, and grins mischievously at Eskel, “He fucked you up!”

“He's a poet, he knows how to use words.” Geralt says, proudly. Jaskier's fingers creep up his neck and bury in his loose hair, pulling lightly at the hair to tilt his head up. He kisses him languidly, with a toe–curling gentleness. “And tongues.”

Eskel shakes his head, amused, “Yes, alright, but now let the winner have his triumphant breakfast, wolf.”

Jaskier claps his hands, “ _Ohhh_ , another one?” he says, looking at Geralt expectantly. He takes a breath, and Jaskier's weak scent of arousal hits his nose, crawling up his nostril, taking roots in his lungs, pooling down his stomach. Geralt knows that Jaskier is probably already excited enough to have sex all over again, for hours now that he just came once, and Geralt, really, he liked maybe a bit too much fucking him, _showing_ him to his brothers, imagining their envy, their _want_ – but that's a thing for later. So he just nuzzles his neck, making him ticklish, and hands him a piece of meat, one that isn't burnt too much.

Jaskier pouts, but then his belly grumbles, and, with a defeated sigh, accepts the offering.

They fuck in this kind of arrangement two more times before something changed.

Geralt takes Jaskier on the couch that same night, the light from the fireplace turning his skin to gold; against one window with Jaskier's face attached to the cool glass the morning after, the burning sun shining in his strands, lightening his eyes, rendering him almost ethereal. Jaskier loves the famished eyes on him with all his might, blooming like a flower under their attentions – he's usually so pliant as he takes Geralt's cock, leaking hard under his caresses, staring at the two Witchers. He tempts them, moaning out loud with Geralt's – or his own, sometimes – fingers pushing into his mouth, begging to be filled with filthy words, touching himself and biting his lips with his eyes, his damned eyes, on his brothers.

Scenting their musky arousal, hearing their bad muffled groans, Geralt doesn't mind this lack of attention from Jaskier _at all._

The fourth night Eskel and Lambert stayed in Corvo Bianco, Jaskier takes them into their bedroom. He lets them settle on an armchair – Lambert chooses to stay standing near the window, though – and then grabs sweetly Geralt's hand in his, bringing him on their bed. Jaskier undresses him slowly, eyeing as the two Witchers already starts to smile and palm their hardening cocks, and kisses every inch of Geralt's skin he can reach, mouthing at the white curls on his chest, licking and biting his nipples. He brings his cock into its fullness, then lays on his back on the furs and enjoys as Geralt opens him up with his fingers, before starting to fuck him with shallow, slow thrusts.

Jaskier brings one of Geralt's hand to his face. He kisses his knuckles, blue eyes looking at him with an intense stare – a stare that is trying to tell him something, and to find out if it's everything okay with whatever he's about to do.

Geralt would give him the whole world. He tells him so, with a low murmur.

“Eskel,” Jaskier breathes, turning his face to the Witcher seated on the armchair. With a heavy hand, he motions at Eskel, “Come here, dear.”

Lambert splutters as Eskel, with his big cock hanging out his trousers, walks to the bed. “ _Hmm_?” he hums, questioningly, and he eyes at Geralt, almost expecting a shout to stop there, to not come closer, to not dare touching him. Geralt doesn't say anything, though, continuing to pound into Jaskier with a gentle pace, feeling his hips tremble under him. “Oh?” Eskel raises his eyebrows, when he puts a knee on the mattress and Jaskier's fingers close around his cock.

“If you don't come when I'm done with him, Lambert,” Jaskier says, laughing breathlessly, “you will be the next.”

Lambert grits his teeth, sitting on the armchair and gripping hard the armrests as to not even try to put his hand on his aching cock, “Motherfucker.” he spits.

Jaskier leans on his elbows and takes Eskel's cock in his mouth. Geralt's thrusts waver at the sight of Jaskier's hollowed cheeks, the familiarity of his movements but with a different cock sliding in and out of him the same way Geralt's doing in and out his wet hole is doing... _things_ to him. Fucking hell, that's hot, he _loves_ what's happening in front of him. His cock twitches inside Jaskier, and Jaskier whines, moving his hips and stretching his lips in a grin when he catches Geralt's amazed stare.

Geralt knows the things that mouth can do, he knows what it means when Jaskier has his lips closed just around the tip. Eskel huffs, and almost fondly takes Jaskier's fringe off his eyes, so he can see better his flushed face, his big, blue eyes staring up at him with nothing if not pure ecstasy. Jaskier doesn't linger too much in torturing the Witcher, for not much later he starts to bob his head with renewed vigor, eating inch by an inch all Eskel's length at every suck, and it doesn't take long, for him, to bury his nose in the dark, curly hair of Eskel's crotch.

Jaskier takes a deep, trembling breath when he pulls off the cock from the warmth of his throat. He spits on it and rolls his teary eyes in the back of his skull, closing his lids slowly, before resuming his blowjob with more filthy, squelching wet sounds.

“Gods, look how messy he is.” says Eskel, voice thick, as he, gently, with his thumb, cleans the side of Jaskier's stretched mouth from spit and precome. Jaskier moans, pupils moving frantically under his closed lids.

Geralt leans down on him, and kisses part of his shoulder he can reach, fastening the pace of his thrusts, “He's beautiful.” he says, gruffly, and Jaskier moans even louder, making Eskel's hips buck forward as he inhales and exhales loudly.

Somewhere behind them, something breaks. Geralt doesn't turn and look to see what happened, but he clearly hears Lambert's breaths becoming more shallow.

Eskel's scent peaks up and drops of sweat fall from his long, brown hair, and Jaskier, probably sensing his impending orgasm, takes his mouth off his cock and wraps his fingers around it, moving them quick and faster. “Are you coming, dear? Come on, do it on me.” he whispers, and his voice is a bit rough, and Geralt _loves_ hearing it so. He mouths at Eskel's navel, face pressed against his thick thigh, “Good boy, don't make Lambert wait too much, that's it.”

Eskel's come pools on Jaskier's chest, getting stuck within his hair. He pats Jaskier's head, caressing his damp mop of hair, and crawls behind him, so his head is still cradled on one of his thigh. Jaskier gets comfortable, throws as intense look at Geralt – that answers him with a more harder push, and yes, Geralt can _feel_ him being close to release as he blabs incoherently at that, as he tenses his legs, as his prick leaks copiously – then smiles at Lambert.

Lambert is near him not even a second later. He grunts when Jaskier's lips close around his red cock, and looks stunned when Jaskier licks every swollen dark veins he can reach. Eskel keeps caressing his hair, and Jaskier goes lax completely under the attention, kissing his way back to the tip of Lambert's cock and then, eyes fluttering close, opens his lips and engulfs it in one go, slowly. “Fuck. I wanna fuck your throat. Can I fuck your throat, pest?”

Jaskier first throws a glance at Geralt, then nods eagerly, mouth stretched open as much as he can. So Lambert, gently at the beginning, thrusts his cock in Jaskier's unmoving mouth, pink tongue peaking out sometime to lap whatever he can reach – then, oh, Lambert's always been a bit of an animal, all instinct and no control, so he starts fucking his throat harder and harder, not even reaching the base as he leans at the head of the bed, behind Eskel, and moves in hot, aimed thrusts.

Jaskier wails, sound muffled by the cock in his mouth. His eyes watered, tears stream down his cheeks. He gags and spits, and that's the point of no return, for him, because Geralt just jerks him off once, rough fingers against the leaking tip of his prick, and that's enough to let him come copiously in long spurts. Lambert stops, even if his hips tremble as he wants them to move again and again, and Jaskier, moaning, lost in his own orgasm, just keeps sucking him.

It's just when Lambert's thrusts become more and more shallow, and his grunts more vocal, and he stays less and less into Jaskier's throat, following the arrival of his pleasure, that Jaskier puts an hand on the base of Lambert's cock and pulls off, taking a heavy breath in.

Lambert comes on his cheeks and neck, nothing if not Jaskier's own spit glistens on his lips.

And that– Gods, that– that is what he _wanted_. And Jaskier knew that, he knew that Geralt wanted no one to come in him but him, even if Geralt never said a thing. And he would not have spoken a thing, not even after, not wanting to ruin what Jaskier is so much enjoying, but there would have been something not settled right in his stomach – and inevitably, Jaskier would have understood – he always does, after all – but too late.

But he knew that beforehand, somehow. He knew that Geralt wants, and will always want to be the only one spitting in him, no matter how many cocks he sucks, how many cocks he takes. He wants to be the one, the _only_ one, marking him _inside_.

Geralt leans on him again, burying his face in the unstained side of his neck. He kisses the soft spot under his ear, and Jaskier pants at every push, softly. “Come, love, come for me.” he murmurs, as his arms go around his tensed shoulders, nails scratch red marks on his scarred skin, legs settle against his moving hips. “I love you, oh Gods, I love you so much, Geralt. The best thing that's ever happened to me, you are; the only one I will ever love 'till my last breath, my darling heart, my everything.” he sings, and his voice is strained and broken, but it's so, so soft.

Geralt capitulates, and comes with a bad–contained sob, buried deep inside of him.

“Shh, darling, it's okay.” Jaskier breathes in his ears, caressing his loose hair, scratching his nape. Geralt feels himself be drifted away, lulled by the loving voice murmuring quiet words so close to him, going lax at his touches. At last, he raises his head and Jaskier smiles, asking, “Fine?”

“Fine.” he confirms.

Jaskier's eyes flutter close, his hands cradling Geralt's face as if it's the most precious thing he has ever handled. When Geralt is able to take off his eyes from him, he sees Eskel still smoothing his hair, his usual placid smile plastered on his face. Lambert, instead, is sitting on the ground, head on the edge of the bed, eyes on the ceiling.

“ _Ha_!” he exults, after a while, “I haven't lost this time.”

Eskel sighs, “No one literally touched themselves. Desist, Lambert, you haven't won either.”

“You've been the first one to come, pussy.”

“We didn't even bet on anything this time, much less on the first to come.”

Jaskier laughs, and that's the most beautiful sound Geralt has ever heard, that tired, breathless laughter, “If so, Geralt's the one who has won. My love.”

Lambert fakes a gag. He gets up and catches the towels, throwing them at Eskel, who grabs them without much effort. “Ugh, this is tooth–rotting.” he whines, cleaning himself by standing in front of the window.

“Such a cold man. Poor that Witcher that has to travel with you all year.”

Jaskier coos, “ _Ohw_ , don't feel sorry for yourself, Eskel.” he says, stretching an arm to give Eskel a pat on his badly scarred face, and Eskel looks at him with blinking eyes, amazed – as if the most strangest thing has just happened. Geralt understands what he's feeling, that unknown sensation of someone that's being gentle with you, that's not scared of you, that's not disgusted by your appearance.

“I never feel sorry for myself, Jaskier.” Eskel tells him, and Jaskier frowns and then giggles when Geralt starts to wipe away the mess on his body. “That's why I wasn't talking about me.”

“Oh? I thought you two travelled together! I though Geralt was the only lone wolf of the pack.” he laughs, “Lambert, you travel with another Witcher? Another brother from the Wolf school?”

Lambert snarls, throwing on the floor his towel before bottoming his black–leather trousers back close, “He's not. Shut up. Not your fucking business.”

“ _Ohhh_ , is this Witcher your lover, then?”

“I said, shut the fuck up!”

Geralt passes a wet, clean angle of the towel on Jaskier's face, and Jaskier hums, contently, stretching and yawning under Eskel's caresses. “Drink a bit, then let's go to sleep.” he says, kissing that red, swollen lips of his.

Jaskier raises from Eskel's thighs, letting Geralt manhandle him until he lays him on the clean, soft cushions. “ _Mhhh_ , can they sleep here?”

Geralt eyes the Eskel that is still grinning at the scowl on Lambert's face, then says, “They can.”

“How magnanimous of you, not kicking us out after the fucks.” says Lambert, sarcastically. He drops on the bed next to Eskel, taking half the space just for him and his limbs, and it's only thanks to the spoiled nature of Jaskier that _demanded_ the biggest bed they could afford that the four of them – even if Eskel has half body out the mattress, and Geralt has to stick close to Jaskier to not fall off – could sleep there together.

Jaskier is the first to fall asleep after Eskel blows the candles, even if Lambert is ignoring all of them faking it way before. Jaskier snores lightly with his face pressed stuck in Geralt's neck, drooling on his shoulder, limbs entwined with his.

Geralt could stay there, looking at him all night long. After all, he has made up his mind the second he told him that he would give him the world, but apparently there are things that Geralt doesn't want, and consequently won't make Jaskier happy.

So, he says, “You can fuck him, if he wants.”

Eskel turns to look at him above Lambert's head. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Just, there are... hm,” Geralt hums, “There are boundaries that I don't want to cross.” he says, hand on Jaskier's naked, smooth back – it's hot even for him, surrounded by three burning Witchers, so he refused to get redressed – tightening his lips, even if he _shouldn't_ feel bothered by asking things he doesn't want. “Don't come in him, not arse, not mouth. And, don't kiss him. Those are the things _I_ want to do to him. Marks... just if he wants. If he says no, that's a no. If you smell discomfort on him, stop–”

“Geralt,” Eskel shuts him, but in the dark of the night he can see his gentle, amused smile nonetheless, “We know how to be gentlemen.”

“Talk for yourself.” mumbles Lambert.

Eskel ignores him, “We're having fun pleasing him,” he adds, with caution, continuing to talk for Lambert too, “And we have no intention to hurt him doing so. We also have no intention to take your place.”

Geralt hums, “I wasn't worried about that, I trust you.” he grunts, “But it's good to know.”

“Good. That's all, wolf?”

Lambert snarls, “Can you two go to fucking sleep now?” he grabs a pillow and puts it on his head, covering his ears and shadowing his face even more than the night is already doing, “Fucking hell, I hate you and your saccharine chattering and that piss that you call wine.”

Eskel chuckles, “We weren't talking about the wine.”

“I just regret that I didn't bring _my_ distilled alcohol with me. That would have been perfect getting drunk with my personalized White Gull after _that_ kind of blowjob.”

Geralt sighs, “If you stop whining, tomorrow I bring you to the distillery.”

“Oh, please, Geralt, don't be so good to me. I might start to hate you less.” Lambert mumbles, under the pillow, “But I accept the offer. I hope to the fucking nonexistent Gods that you have a godsdamned good distillery, even if you use it for that wine–piss.”

Eskel shoves him, a smile that turns into an unwanted sneer where the scar pulls, but it's always so beautiful on his face. It's been years since he last saw him, but Eskel is always the same, wonderful man he left behind long, long ago, after the Trials were done and Geralt still stupidly wanted to be a hero, and not a mere mutant. He wonders if that scar on his face still hurts when the days start to get colder, or when there's a storm on the horizon. If he scratches it every time he is too concentrated, if he still doesn't mind being kissed there – after five years, and maybe more, he doesn't know that anymore.

Geralt closes his eyes, and settles better against Jaskier, that still snores undisturbed. He buries his nose in the mop of his brown curls, and murmurs, “I missed you, guys.”

He hears more than sees Eskel's gentle smile, “We know.”

“ _I_ don't.” snorts Lambert, without taking the pillow off his head.

“Don't mind him, he does. We missed you, too, wolf.”

Something lightens in his chest, after hearing those whispered words. He needed the reassurance, and he needed it from Eskel, because he knows that Eskel is kind, but he's also straight–forward enough that he really means what he says. Eskel really means it when he says that they both missed him. Eskel really means it when he left unsaid that they both _forgave_ him.

He falls asleep with Jaskier's sweet scent in his nose, and peace in his mind.

It's Lambert the first to enter into Jaskier, one night later. Geralt has the job to open Jaskier's hole with his fingers, scissoring him as he sits on his lap, trembling knees against Geralt's thighs, arse up in the air. Jaskier moans right in his ears, loudly, _wanting_ to be heard – he's a tease, and likes to be tempting, pulling at his hair as he gets even closer, lapping his lobe and he becomes more and more vocal.

Lambert and Eskel have the best view, lucky them. They are looking at Geralt's fingers disappearing into Jaskier's wet hole with squelching, mouth–watering sounds. The look in their eyes, there, as they kneel in front of them, is dark and hungry, and their stares are sending a shudder right through Jaskier's back – he _feels_ their eyes, even if he can't see them in the position he's in, and that's driving him crazy with lust. He whines when Geralt's fingers abandon him.

Lambert, strangely, is very gentle as he enters into Jaskier. He thrusts in once, twice, with a maddening slow pace. “Stop. Don't wanna hurt you, pest.” he says, as he tries to still Jaskier's hips that, instead, are eagerly pushing his arse towards Lambert's cock.

“Lambert, dear Lambert.” Jaskier huffs, hiding a smile against Geralt's naked shoulder. “I'm used to a prick way bigger than yours, you can see with your very wonderfully functioning two eyes at the perfection of Geralt's erected cock – and even when soft is still so satisfying, I know that from experience. I'm not picky on lengths, I assure you, as long as there is skill, even a needle can do a perfect job, after al– Ah! _Gods_!” Jaskier hiccups, as Lambert finally pushes inside him with vigor, hard and all the way in, so much that Lambert's thighs slap against Jaskier's at every thrusts.

“You like playing with fire, uh, pest?” grunts Lambert, mounting him, making all Jaskier's body bob on Geralt's lap. “Yes, you love it. Am I hitting your prostate already? I bet that Geralt never find the right angle so soon.”

Geralt laughs, and Jaskier arches his back, almost howling, “Don't bet. You'd lose.”

Meanwhile, Eskel gets closer, already completely naked. He passes callouses hands on Jaskier's body, slicking his hair back from his sweaty forehead, tingling his nipples. Jaskier rolls his eyes, lost in the sensation of being so overstimulated. It's not enough, though – that's why Geralt, mouthing at his chin as he takes deep, heavy breaths, wraps his fingers around his leaking cock, abandoned in the middle of their bodies.

“Geralt, Geralt,” he tries to say, between the thrusts, “Geralt, no, not yet. I'll come too soon.”

“ _Shhh_ , let us pamper you. You'll come as many times as you can, tonight.”

Jaskier wails, and with trembling fingers he cradles his face in his palms and kisses him. Their teeth bump together by the rough pounds of Lambert, and he licks the underside of his lower lip instead that his mouth, but it's perfect regardless, and Geralt wants more – more of his mouth, of his tongue, of his spit, everything.

Jaskier hiccups, “I'm close, _Melitele_ help me, I'm so close, Geralt!” he moans, and his hips lose the steadiness and he probably doesn't know if he wants to follow Lambert's thrusts or Geralt's hand pumping his cock.

“Damn it, his arse _sings_.” laughs Lambert, quickening his pace even more, “Fuck.”

Jaskier comes with a trembling wail, and Geralt doesn't stop jerking him off even when Jaskier can't spurt anymore. He sobs, after a while, covering Geralt's hand with his to stop him, “Love, my love, please stop, it hurts.”

“Does it, Jask? Even if I go slower?” he asks, kissing the side of his mouth, all his flushed cheek, until he reaches his damp neck. He moves his hand on his cock slower, easier now that his come slicks his fingers and helps the stroking. “Hm? Tell me, is this fine? If not, I will stop.”

“No, no. Just,” Jaskier takes a shaky breath, closing his eyes, “Slower, love, slower.”

Lambert suddenly stills, “Fuck,” he swears, and immediately takes his cock out of Jaskier, coming in long spurts on his arched back, a series of imprecation murmured against his nape, where Lambert buried his face as he orgasms. “ _Fuuuck_ , I will not forget this arse very soon.” he says, slapping Jaskier's arsecheek so softly that it doesn't even leave the red mark of his palm.

When Jaskier's head falls on Geralt's shoulder, panting softly, Eskel asks, “Do you need a moment, Jaskier?” and pats the damp brown strands stuck in his face.

Jaskier's eyes flutter open and smiles sweetly at Eskel, raising a hand to leave a caress on his cheek, “No, I'm fine. Come on, I want to come again with you in me.”

Eskel is gentler than Lambert, enters into Jaskier with a swift move and takes on a docile pace, almost submissive, as if he wants to enjoy every single inch on Jaskier's insides as it clenches around his cock, savouring every single sigh – and even if Jaskier usually wants it all and wants it immediately, he loves being taken like Eskel is doing, falling apart slowly, in a maddening quiet way. Geralt uses the same speed as Eskel with his hand, and Jaskier blabs uncontrollably, face pressed on Geralt's hot skin.

Geralt raises his eyes, and he finds Eskel looking at him. Eskel has a pair of eyes that Geralt feels so familiar on him, they're of the usual weird colour the three of them share, but Eskel's, somehow, seems warmer, a lighter yellow that resembles more the colour of wheat fields than the ugly yellow of the mutations. Flashes of darker eyes on the same, unscarred, younger face cross his mind – but Geralt doesn't miss them, finding out that the ones in front of him are so much dear to him, as much as they've ever been before the Trials.

“Fuck, can I bite those nips?” asks Lambert, hand raised to touch Jaskier's chest.

It's Eskel the first to drop the stare. He leans on Jaskier's back, and his fingers hover, without closing them, though, around Jaskier's throat. “Is this fine, Jaskier? I will not squeeze, unless you ask for it.”

Jaskier whimpers, and just nods as an answer. Eskel, delicately, closes his hand around Jaskier's throat and handles it until Jaskier's back arches. It flushes against Eskel's chest, and Lambert immediately sticks his tongue on Jaskier's hairy pectoral, nipping the rosy nipple, grazing his pointed teeth on it – torturing, but without leaving any worrisome mark.

It's then that Geralt turns his palm around Jaskier's cock, squeezing the tip, jerking as fast as Eskel is starting to pound into him. Jaskier comes again with an howl, nails stabbing the skin on his forearms, where he clings for dear life. Eskel's thumb caresses the side of his throat, right the tender point where there is possible to feel perfectly his crazy pulse, and Jaskier comes undone, lolling his head on Eskel shoulder behind him.

“Geralt,” he mumbles, words not quite being pronounced comprehensibly, “It's too much.”

“Slower?” he asks again. If only Jaskier so much as smell uncomfortable, or in actual pain, he'll stop immediately, of course. Jaskier is completely lost in his own pleasure, his cock overstimulated, his thighs so tensed that they can't support him anymore.

Jaskier just whines, eyes closed, and doesn't respond in any other way.

Eskel wraps an arm around Jaskier waist, pinning him on his cock as he thrusts into him. Jaskier bounces completely limp, resembling a puppet with no strings attached to him anymore, and Geralt, slowly, very slowly, keeps stroking him. Lambert abandoned his task a while ago, and he's just enjoying the show, crumpled somewhere on the bed.

Jaskier's expression is pure _ecstasy_. His face is flushed red, his mouth agape, his lids half–closed, eyes dazed. Geralt has done all of this just to see that expression, and it is so, so worth it – even more that he actually really loved every second of it.

Eskel pops out of Jaskier and strokes himself until he spurts on the useless blankets under them. He kisses Jaskier's nape, after that, enjoying his afterglow without moving – just feeling the cute weight of a boneless lover on him. Geralt understands that urge way too well.

Jaskier crawls back in Geralt's arms when he's pretty sure that he won't just crumble on the blankets, without strength. He kisses every inch of Geralt's face he can reach, smoothing away the white strands of hair when they're on the way. Jaskier huffs, his lips just a breath away from Geralt's, “Fuck.” he swears, softly, as Geralt _still_ strokes him, with as much gentleness he can gather.

“Can you come one last time, Jask?” Geralt asks, caressing his lips with his, breathing in his heavy sighs.

Jaskier smiles, “For you? Always, my love.” he whispers. Geralt enters inside Jaskier's loose hole – and oh, it's so warm, so soft, so pliant, so wet. It eats his cock easily, without any friction at all, apart from the puffy, wrinkled rim clenching around him, squeezing him. “Definitely the bigger.” Jaskier adds, forcing his eyelids to open so he can, weakly, wink at him.

Meanwhile, Geralt distractedly registers Eskel getting up from the bed and cleaning his chest with a washcloth, “I have Lambert's spunk _everywhere_ , Gods.”

“Lucky you.” Lambert's laugh reaches their ears, making Jaskier chuckle.

Geralt doesn't take long to come, unfortunately. He ignored his needs to give all his complete attention to Jaskier's, while the other two Witchers fucked him, so now some lovely whispered words, some well placed whimpers, some kisses on his favourite points in his neck that Jaskier knows perfectly, are enough to bring him over the edge, and fill Jaskier's inside with his come. He keeps moving into him, even when his cock starts to get soft.

He stops just when Jaskier shouts, bites his neck, and comes almost dry. Jaskier sobs, as he laps the mark his teeth left on Geralt's skin, and murmurs, deliriously, “Now stop, please, I can't take more. Fuck, I'm not eighteen anymore, Geralt. This was heavenly, but it's too much, too much.” Dazed eyes find his, “Fine, love?”

Geralt wipes the drool away from his lips with his thumb, “Fine.”

Geralt still doesn't smell anything bitter in his scent – Jaskier still scents of flowers, of sweet lust, of salty sweat – but he doesn't want to reach the point where he feels uncomfortable, so even if he'd like to just lay Jaskier on the furs and fuck him senseless again, he doesn't. He lets him take his breath, eyes closed and face pressed on his shoulder – and inevitably, he falls asleep like this.

“Adorable, really,” Lambert says, looking at them with a fake grimace, and handing him a washcloth, “But he never fucking helps after.”

“I don't mind. I like spoiling him.”

“No shit.”

Eskel blows the candles, and darkness falls in the room. “Let's go to sleep. Tomorrow your White Gull will be ready, right, Lambert?”

Lambert's eyes shines in the dark, and his teeth show when he grins, “Can't fucking wait to get Jaskier drunk.”

Geralt growls, “He'll _die_ if he drinks that.”

“Don't worry, pretty boy,” Lambert teases him, while Eskel gets on the bed, closing his eyes and probably deciding that their bickering isn't worth the lack of rest, “I made a special one for him, with less deadly ingredients in it. Ours will be the same, don't worry.”

“We won't fuck him while drunk.”

“I won't fucking _dare_ to even suggest that!” Geralt hears more than see Lambert's eyes roll. “It will be our last night here. We won't ruin it.”

Satisfied with that, Geralt pulls Jaskier even more against his chest, kisses his forehead, and drifts off. The thought of his brothers leaving his home – _him –_ doesn't settle right in Geralt's stomach, but it's not that he can tie them to him in any way, even if he wants to. How long will it be until he sees them again? Will he be the one to go to Kaer Morhen, and pass the winter with them? Will Jaskier be able to travel again, even if not on the Path, to reach them? And if not, will another five years pass for them to drop by here?

Will they even _want_ to drop by, if Geralt forgets about them again?

Lambert comes back from the distillery with a bright grin plastered on his face, arms full of vials and already a blush of red coloring his nose. Jaskier sits on the couch with Eskel, listening captured Eskel's story of when he and Geralt were on the Path, not much older than teenagers, and they still stopped in taverns in Kaedwen before taking different roads, at the start of spring – when they still used to go hunting together and not just monsters, just to have fun, just because they wanted to stay alone the two of them for a little bit longer than necessary, and they still had things to share and things to experience together. Jaskier lives to hear tales of love and adventures – that's one of the reasons he started to follow him through the Continent – and sings about them with flourish poetry and catchy rhymes, and lately, as they started to both live a sedentary life, Jaskier missed so much travelling with his fantasy, the creation of lyrics as a way to tell tales, and such.

“This, you damned pest,” proclaims Lambert, once he arrives near Jaskier, “Is the best booze you will ever drink, not that piss of the wine you keep serving during dinners.” then, he drops the vials on the carpet at Jaskier and Eskel's feet, right in front of where Geralt is just sharpening his swords – it's a things that he still does, even if he doesn't take contracts anymore. It's been useful, when Eskel and Lambert contacted him for the hunt the other day.

“What's wrong with Geralt's wine? In my modest opinion, it's one of the best wine you can find in Toussaint, apart from the one specifically brewed for the Countess. Knights and townspeople the same comes here to buy it, because it's very tasty and my love doesn't even charge the poor that couldn't afford that!”

“Yes, yes, your love is perfect and generous and _blah blah_.” Lambert waves a hand, while Jaskier splutters, indignantly, “Still, _my_ brewing is better. And stronger, more importantly. Pest, yours are the vials with the lighter colour.”

“Why I have different ones?” Jaskier pouts. He grabs one the vials Geralt hands him, uncorks it and sniffs the concoction inside. He gags, “Fucking balls, this is strong.”

“That's why. Ours is even stronger. And deadly, for humans.”

“Deadly?!” Jaskier gasps, looking at Geralt alarmingly. He makes a gesture towards him as if he wants to stop him drinking Lambert's alcohol.

Lambert groans, loudly, “I said for _humans_ , idiot!”

Geralt raises from the floor to drop on the couch next to Jaskier, taking him in his arms as he pouts again. They all uncork their vials and cheer to nothing in particular – usually, they cheer because they survived another year, they cheer to life that they still have despite it all. Now, they only want to have fun, being drunk together without a real reason if not to just be together. The booze is good, as it always is, it burns his throat and makes Geralt remember the cold days passed all the three together at the keep, Vesemir already asleep, getting so high that the morning after they awoke, the better times, in the stables, naked.

Jaskier coughs at the burn in his throat as he drinks, red immediately coloring his cheeks and the tip of his ears. “This thing is– _Gods_ ,” he splutters, “Undrinkable!”

“You are just a pussy.” snorts Lambert, gulping another vial in one go, followed by Eskel. Geralt, for now, is completely fine with only one vial, the light dizziness pleasurably clouding his mind.

Jaskier squeezes his eyes, then, tentatively – just to spite Lambert, Geralt is sure of it – he takes another couple of sips, leaning on Geralt as his face becomes even more of a cute, drunk red. Eskel indicates Jaskier with a gesture of his chin, “Better not letting him drink too much.”

“Why? I didn't even drink half of it! And it's starting to have a very good taste, if I ignore the fact that my entire mouth is on fire. Anyway,” Jaskier claps his hands, smiling, but pouts again when Geralt takes the vial off his hands, “What are we celebrating?”

Eskel shrugs, “Nothing in particular. Lambert thought that before we go, you should have tried his pride and joy. Apparently the only thing he can do right.”

“Fuck off, Eskel!”

“Before you go?” Jaskier perks up at that, blinking, as if he didn't believe that, one day, they'll just go back to their Path, without looking back. His scent turns slightly bitter – Jaskier's never been good with goodbyes. “Oh. I mean, I knew the day would come, of course, but... it's not even been a week. You can stay a bit longer, it's not that we'll kick you out! Right, Geralt?”

Jaskier turns in his embrace, looking with an intense stare into his eyes, searching for a support that Geralt, unfortunately, cannot give him. Of course he wants them to stay, but he is in no position to take them back from the Path – that would be unfair. “They have to go getting their pay, for the contract.” he tells him, stroking his cheek, trying to smooth the frown at the side of his mouth, “It didn't go well, but the nests were destroyed regardless, and that's enough.”

“Who cares about the contract! They don't even pay you as much as you deserve.” Jaskier shouts, widening his arms. Then, he lets them fall at his side, “Bullshit. I'm wasting my breath here, you Witchers are so obtuse, especially when there are your lives and your health at stake. Oh? There's an unknown creature at the peak of this mountain? It never hurts anyone because its nest is far away from the main road? Oh Melitele, it killed a cow? It must be eliminated immediately, let's call for a Witcher that will risk his useless life for little to no coin at all, so we can avenge the poor animal! After all, the cow was supposed to become a steak on some royal banquet, that's unacceptable!”

Lambert snorts, “I mean, he's got a point.”

“We save lives, Jaskier.” says Eskel, good–naturedly, “It's worth it.”

Unlike Lambert, he and Eskel had believed that for a long time – they had clinged to that belief to keep going on, to let their mind rest. Geralt still believes it, and he's sure that Eskel has said that because he, too, is convinced that it's the right thing.

Geralt, now, has just find something worth even more.

“I know,” says Jaskier, begrudgingly, “No one ever saves yours, though.”

Apart from him, that is. Jaskier has always cared for Geralt, and for the reputation of all Witchers, getting always so angry at people, writing poetry and songs with their – his, _only_ – heroics. They are there, in Toussaint, and the reason is because Jaskier cared – and still does – maybe too much, so much that it jeopardized his own health, losing his mind every time he had to wipe away Geralt's blood from his hands and clothes and face, had to see Geralt's chest unmoving, his breathing and his heartbeat so slow, until he completely broke down. And even if this makes Geralt a selfish bastard, he won't ever put other people's lives before Jaskier's health.

Even so, none of the Witcher there answer him, Geralt included, so Jaskier sniffs, and shrugs, “Can I have more of that booze?”

Geralt shakes his head, “Better not.”

Jaskier puffs his cheeks, pouting, “ _Mhh_ , then, can I have your cock?”

“You're drunk.”

“Darling, not as much as I wish to be, really.” Jaskier sighs, his fingers creeping up his thigh, “Now I want to give the Witchers the best goodbye. I am not good at them, but I am good at sex, so it's only logical for me to do that with a fuck.” he winks at Lambert and Eskel, the latter shaking his head with a smile on his lips, “Hear me out, I can suck you off, now,” he tells Geralt, blue eyes shining in mischief, “Then, I have something very exciting in mind, and I want you to _watch_. How does it sound for you?”

“It sounds like a trick.” Geralt says, honestly, and Jaskier raises an eyebrow, “What it is that you have in mind?”

Jaskier chuckles, and unfastens Geralt's trousers with skilled fingers, wrapping his palm around his soft cock. He strokes a few time, and it slowly hardens under his caresses, “Well, if I tell you it will ruin its surprise element! Silly!”

With that, Jaskier closes his eyes and falls on Jaskier's cock, half laying on him, half on the couch – not caring about Eskel, almost kicking him in the stomach as he settles better, actually forcing his brother to get up with a sigh and sits on the carpet next to an amused Lambert. Jaskier's mouth engulfs him, bobbing his head and not taking his time at all, with the only purpose to let him come as soon as possible, so he can go on with his plan, whatever that is, and meanwhile Geralt, as always, can't take his hands off him; so he strips his colorful trousers off so to show his arse, and rub against his wrinkled rim.

Jaskier moans, his voice vibrating on his cock in a wonderful way, and pushes his arse against his fingers. “I've still got no oil. Be patient.” Geralt tells him.

“For what I have in mind,” he says, taking Geralt's cock out of his mouth with a pop. He licks the underside of his cock as he talks, pink tongue poking out, tempting, “I will need a _lot_ of that.”

“Hm, is that so?” Geralt waves a hands towards Lambert, pointing him where the kitchen's door is, “I need oil.” he orders.

Lambert splutters, “I'm not your fucking servant!”

But, not without complaining, he still gets up to do as asked.

Jaskier's puffy lips kiss the base of his cock, in waiting. They graze against the thin skin of his balls, his tongue shyly pokes out to lap at them, all the while with his hand jerking him with fast, fantastic strokes – and Geralt grunts under his breath, hips twitching to move, toes curling in pleasure on the fur of the carpet under his bare feet. That mouth, damn that mouth, the wonderful things it can do.

Geralt doesn't know what Jaskier has in mind, but when, with an ever–present scowl, Lambert hands him the cooking oil, he puts a generous amount of it on Jaskier's crack, making him moan at the coolness of it, then he rubs his fingers against his entrance, oiling them first, before pushing his index inside him, finding no resistance at all. Jaskier hums in pleasure at the intrusion, and starts to bob his head in time with Geralt's fingering, increasing his pace at every finger Geralt pushes in him.

“More,” he murmurs, voice slightly broken, when Geralt stops at three fingers. Geralt frowns a that: usually, Jaskier never is prepared enough for him with just three of _his_ fingers inside, he never wants more – he can't _resist_ more, wanting all, wanting everything as soon as possible. “I need more, Geralt.”

Geralt complies, obviously. He would never say no to any of Jaskier's requests, after all.

Jaskier sucks hard almost his entire erection, hollowing his cheeks as much as he can, and squeezes Geralt's four fingers he has in him – and that's enough, as everything Jaskier does, to make Geralt come in his mouth with a muffled moan. He drinks it all, without wasting a drop, coughing just once at the first sticky shot, even if he was prepared for it. Licking him clean, he ends that mind–blowing blowjob with a tender kiss on the tip of his cock.

“ _Mhhh_ , you always taste so good.” murmurs Jaskier, crawling up Geralt's body to press his lips against his. Geralt can taste himself in those lips, and his spent cock, inevitably, twitches. “Now, darling, I think that's enough.” he adds after a couple of minutes where Jaskier just enjoyed the kisses, then one of his hands reaches Geralt's fingers still moving inside him to stop them. Then, he raises from the couch, standing on wobbly legs, he trips on his trousers crowding at his feet, and finally drops on the carpets next to Eskel, scrambling with a breathless laugh on his lap, “Here's the thing, my dear Witchers: I want you two to get naked, get very well oiled, and fuck me. I want both of your cocks in me. Have I made myself clear?”

“Bossy.” Eskel comments, raising an eyebrow.

“It's crystalline clear, pest.” Lambert grins. He grabs the abandoned bottle oil and unbutton his trousers, “Arse up, come on.” he says, patting Jaskier's arsecheek with the bottle. Under Jaskier, Eskel too starts to unfastens his clothes – throwing just once a glance at Geralt, though.

Geralt, indeed, is looking back. He growls a bit, in fact, as he settles more comfortable against the cushions on the couch, ready to enjoy the show that Jaskier is putting up for him. He wants Geralt to _watch_? Geralt will, without doubts. His eyes will roam, famished, on him, without lowering them to lose not even a passage, as his brothers will fuck him. _Together_.

Eskel, leaking with oil and precome, enters inside Jaskier so easily and perfectly. Jaskier rides him for a while, moaning at every Eskel's thrust of hips – and only when Jaskier is comfortable enough, Lambert creeps his finger against the stretched rim, first caressing, then pushing slowly. Lambert isgoing _slow_ , Lambert _cares_ , fuck, no one else would do that, especially with a eager Jaskier blabbing that he's ready, that he can put it in, that he wants it now and that there's no need to stretch him more – especially knowing Lambert, that he's not famous to tame his own instincts. That's why he chose his brothers to please Jaskier's desires – he would not trust anybody else, at that is the reason enough.

One finger goes in without much resistance, the second too. The third, Jaskier squirms a bit, trying to get used to the burn of being _so much_ stretched – that must feel _sublime_ , he thinks, and the voice in his mind resembles so much Jaskier's. Geralt snuffles, and all he can smell is the immense arousal Jaskier's is feeling, sweet and spicy and musky. Geralt perks his ears, and all he can hear is the growling sound _he_ is making at the sight in front of him.

Lambert pulls off his fingers, and Jaskier whines at the feeling of loss. But he doesn't have to linger in the sensation for too long, for Lambert doesn't take long to oil his cock a bit more and pushing against the tight hole, joining Eskel – the latter is not moving, waiting for Jaskier to be enough comfortable before starting moving again.

But none of them moves, they actually _froze_ at the whimper escaping Jaskier's lips. Geralt, immediately, stands up, heart beating too fast in his throat, noticing how Jaskier's cock softened, and growls, “Enough.”

“Shit,” Lambert swears, and pulls out. The weak scent of blood reaches Geralt's nostrils, and panics. “Shit, fuck, Jaskier?”

“What?” Jaskier pants, frowning. His face is scarlet red, his eyes full of unshed tears. “Why did you stop?”

Eskel too, carefully, pulls off Jaskier, and he whines again, “Jaskier,” Eskel says his name with a firm voice, and taps a finger under his chin so to raise his head. Like this, Jaskier is looking straight to Eskel's face, and his expression is so surprised, as if he didn't acknowledge the fact that he had his face down – hiding it, for who know reasons. “Jaskier, we were going to hurt you if we continued. Did you noticed?”

Jaskier gawks, “What? That's absurd. I wasn't hurting!” Jaskier turns his head towards Geralt as he crouches next to them. Geralt brings a hand to his face, wiping away the tear stuck in his lashes. “Geralt, my love, tell them that I was fine. I mean, of course it hurt a bit, it's _normal_. It would pass soon! First times always hurt!”

Geralt tightens his lips, “You've never done that before?”

“It's just a little tear, a healing salve and he'll survive.” groans Lambert, already dressed back, after checking out why Jaskier was bleeding. He stands in front of them, arms folded, eyebrows knitted together, “Fucking hell, you should have told us that! This kind of things takes time and preparations, and–”

“And then, this is a thing that we will do next time we see each other again.” says Eskel, looking at Geralt, and Geralt feels calmer, now that Eskel's quiet stare is trying to reassure him, “No need to push yourself now, Jaskier.”

“I wasn't. I genuinely wasn't, I swear. I wanted to do it, so much! I wasn't pushing myself in any way, and the ache was completely bearable.” Jaskier says, and his tone is really genuine, not a trace of bitterness in his scent, he is not trying to minimize his pain at all. But still, Geralt doesn't want this – if his pain is avoidable, they will avoid it with time and patience. They will no rush things, and inevitably destroy everything. Also, hearing Eskel saying that there will be a _next_ time, it brings a relief in Geralt's chest he didn't know he needed before. “But, well, if there will be a next time... I can wait.” Jaskier smiles, rolling his eyes in fond exasperation when Geralt picks him up bridal–style. “And I can _walk_ , for fuck's sake.”

Geralt grins, “Can't I carry you upstairs?”

“Of course you can, my love, for I do not wish to be in other arms if not yours, like this.” Jaskier bats his eyes, then rolls them again, with the back of one of his hand on his forehead, “I think that blasted booze clouded my mind more than I though possible! I might fall into a drunkenly slumber in any moment because of that. _Ohw_ , now, shall we go save my arse for further pain? I cannot abide this interminable wait any longer!”

Lambert groans – Geralt knows – fondly at Jaskier's exaggerations. Eskel, instead, gets up after fixing his clothes back in a more presentable way, and walks closer to them, taking Jaskier's hand in his palm, kissing its back almost reverently. Geralt almost drops Jaskier to the ground to go hugging his brother, but of course he doesn't. “'Til next time, Jaskier. Take care of Geralt for us, as you did for all this time.”

Jaskier seems to understand that he will not see the two Witchers the following day, so he, solemnly, says, “I will.” then, becomes scarlet red when Eskel's lips touch his skin. “ _Aaand_ , that's why you are my second favourite.” he adds, throwing a disappointed glance at Lambert.

Lambert, in response, just returns a deadpanned stare. Jaskier flips a finger at him, as Geralt takes him upstairs, into their room.

“Are you mad?” asks Jaskier, as Geralt lays him on the bed. He is still half naked, just one of his big, satin chemise covering his chest and the middle of his thighs. It's tempting, as he stretches his limbs on the furs, but Geralt has other priorities right now. “I swear, my love, I wanted to feel good, I had no intention to hurt myself.”

“I'm not mad, Jask.” Geralt sighs, grabbing an healing salve from his satchel, “But if you continued, you would have got hurt. And I'm not okay with any of this if you get hurt.”

Jaskier smiles, fondly, and once Geralt sits beside him, he turns on his stomach with a relaxed hum, “I know, darling. I guess I am a bit tipsy, and I didn't fully comprehend the consequences of my... uncontrollable inhibitions, but I do apologize for ruining the evening.” then, he sighs contently, when Geralt's fingers start massaging his arse, slowly circling his rim, without putting too much pressure against the tiny cut that already stopped bleeding.

“You didn't ruin anything. You would have if you forced us to continue, I guess.”

Jaskier tucks his head towards him, cradling it between his folded arms on the pillows, “I would never force you, nor anyone else in anything, Geralt. I think you know me better than this.” he closes his eyes – the healing salve already making effect, relaxing his limbs and mind – and, when Geralt's done with his job, scrambles under the furs, “Stay until I fall asleep?”

Geralt lays next to him after blowing the candles, hugging him from behind. He buries his face in Jaskier's hair, kissing behind his ear, making him all go giggle. “You don't seem as drunk as you are claiming to be.”

“The evening hasn't reached its end. And the night is young. Spend the rest of the time they stay with Lambert and Eskel – after all, because of me, you really didn't have any time to pass alone with them.” Jaskier turns, and cuddles against his chest, “I've completely monopolized their time here, and no, don't tell me otherwise, darling, you know that's true. We had fun, and I wanted to have fun tonight too, but considering that I... _we_ have to skip the insane sex session I had in mind, I can finally leave you two to your _witchery_ things.”

Geralt's lips stretch in a smile against Jaskier's forehead, “Hm, I like having you around.”

Jaskier snorts, “I bet!”

“I love you.”

He _feels_ more than see Jaskier's smile blooming on his face, as he always does every time Geralt _speaks_ about his love, instead of showing it with actions and small everyday gestures. His scent becomes strong, more sweet – he smells of happiness and contentment, and it placates Geralt's heart and mind. “I know you do, and I obviously love you too. How could you not, anyway? I'm so lovable. All the Continent is in mourn since the day you've taken me for yourself only, depriving nobles and townspeople the same of such a gift that I am.”

Geralt hums, amused, “Shut up.”

After that, Jaskier falls quiet – but Geralt can hear, from the his fluttering heartbeat, that he is still awake. “Will you miss them?” he asks, as he leaves a kiss in the hollow of his collarbone. “Stupid question, I know. You will, of course you will. It's just, I was thinking that...” Geralt feels his fingers tapping against his chest, a sign of nervousness, “That, that maybe, if you promise you'll be careful, and you won't jump into death as if no one is waiting for you out there, that you will value your life and... just take care of your–fucking–self, we can... return on the Path. I miss travelling with you, sing your heroics in taverns and courts, and like this we can meet your brothers. So you won't miss them so much... because of me.”

Geralt frowns. He can't really understand what Jaskier is feeling right now: he's nervous, that much he gathers, but he doesn't understand if he really is ready to return on the Path, or he's forcing himself just for Geralt's sake, because maybe he has seen the longing in his eyes – not for the life of the Path, but for the life with his brothers. “Are you sure you're fine?” he asks then.

“Fine.” Jaskier answers, and smile against his skin, “No more breakdowns for me, I swear, as long as you... as you think a bit more about your safety, and then others. I know it's selfish, but I don't care. I am _very_ selfish. I want it all, you know me. Fuck others.”

Geralt huffs a laughter, “We'll see, then. Rest now. We'll talk about that when the time comes.”

Jaskier hums, bites playfully his collarbone, then, finally, falls asleep.

It feels too much like Kaer Morhen, without Jaskier's colorful presence among them; it's not a bad feeling, actually, but it doesn't feel like home anymore. They pass the night getting drunk in front of the fireplace, even if it's not cold at all outside, and Lambert and Eskel fight about which one of them killed the strangest creature since the spring came, just like good old day at the keep – this time, though, Geralt has nothing to say. Not much creatures and monsters around Corvo Bianco, and actually his first kill after quite a while it's been with them, during their contract.

But it's fine, Geralt feels fine. Maybe he misses a bit of the camaraderie they shared before, even more the closeness he had – lost, somehow involuntarily rejected – with Eskel in particular, but he's getting there. _They're_ getting there. “I guess we'll see again in the winter.”

“Are we now?” snorts Lambert, throwing an empty vial behind his back. It crashes somewhere on the floor, and Geralt sighs, knowing that he'll be the one to clean up, tomorrow. “Really, if I were you, I would stay here all the rest of my pitiful life. You want to see old papa Vesemir so much?”

Geralt shrugs, “Yes. And, I would do that to also see you two.”

Lambert blinks, opens his mouth to retort, but probably finds out that he doesn't have a proper response to that. He just uncorks another vials, and gulps the White Gull in one go, muttering curses under his breath.

“I'm glad.” Eskel says, warm eyes on Lambert, “Kaer Morhen hasn't been the same without you. And I bet that Vesemir will be happy to know that you are actually alive. I've always been his favourite, but he has a kind spot for you.”

“And the prize for the blackest sheep goes _toooo_!” Lambert raises from the carpet, and feverishly indicates himself with his thumbs, a smug smile on his lips.

Eskel sighs, “If you just stop to set his thing on fire just for a _single_ decade, that would be different.” he says, as Geralt laughs and thinks that, tomorrow, Lambert – Witcher or not – he'll have one hell of an hangover, if he continues to drink. None of them try to stop him, though. Serves him right, that prick.

“Then his life would be _soooo_ boring.” Lambert says, solemnly, swaying on his feet.

“We will wait for you. For you two, I guess you won't leave Jaskier behind. We can meet in Kaedwen first, and go to the keep together. Better if we hit the road before the winter comes, so it'll be easier for Jaskier to climb the Blue Mountain.” Eskel pats his shoulder, and for a interminable minute his hand lingers there, tightening slightly the grip. A way to silently tell him that he will, there aren't just fitting words said for circumstances, he really will wait for them in some taverns in Kaedwen, as he did so long ago – and Lambert will do the same, also, even if he will behave all annoyed by it.

They all fall asleep on the floor, stunned by the alcohol. The next day he will watch his brothers' back disappear down the road, and that will not be the last he'll see of them, so his sleep is not tormented by guilt anymore, he's not afraid to lose Jaskier as long as he will not be forced to leave him behind. Their winery in Corvo Bianco will remain where it is, waiting for them to come back – and Jaskier will walk beside him, like he did for years, with his lute in his arms and his charm in his face.

He won't lose anything.

**Author's Note:**

> Who wants to write a pwp with feelings M/M/F/F with the sorceresses? Not me. No.
> 
> Say hi to me at my tumblr! [@geraltdirivia](https://geraltdirivia.tumblr.com/)  
> 


End file.
